Momo lost in the moment
Actually it’s about Momo losing its existence rather than Momo getting past yet another moment after handing out the same from the near defunct repository of its possessions. It seems like yesterday but that with a span of unsurpassed and extent of unimaginable pangs of agony and remorseful anticipations.
Coming a long way and getting out of that shadow is impossible even during the flight of imaginations but on many occasions the restless and bruised subconscious relinquishes its constant struggle to stifle the perpetually imploding sense of disenchantment and submits to the rather easy going state of lost identity. On that plane the morphing of abstract helplessness ceases to transform into ever changing attachments and the status quo reigns with its primordial and relentless monotone.
At times it feels like drifting the existence to stagnation where relativity with respect to the rest of the universe defies its own meaning. Nonetheless, it all seems to justify this galvanized flux from and to the universe that has kept us mortal. Getting tired of this life is what that is moving this ennui to search for the lips to reprimand the desires of the deprived. Even on today, it is waking up invariably to the sunset of yet another pursuit of the passing moment that fails to define the Momo.
If that is the resting place for the lost souls I am salvaged to have found it. Let the Momo gone for good as the window is shut and the room is empty.